


Six Years

by mymishaandjensenfic (ljunattainable)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, First Time, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 23:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2207094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljunattainable/pseuds/mymishaandjensenfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen and Misha have been working together for six years but they're only friends. Jensen's in love with Misha and jealous of Barrowman. Misha's in love with Jensen and thinks it's unrequited. Barrowman helps, or tries to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Years

**Author's Note:**

> posted on [,tumblr](http://mymishaandjensenfic.tumblr.com) but way too long to be easily readable on tumblr, so finally making it's way to AO3.
> 
> For an anon prompt:  
> 

—— FRIDAY NIGHT ———

Jensen frowns at the photo attached to Misha’s latest text, his gut twisting uncomfortably, and grinding his teeth together so hard his jaw aches. 

Misha and Barrowman. 

Barrowman and Misha. 

The sensible thing to do at this point would be to put the phone back in his pocket, or turn the screen off, or maybe even chuck the damn thing across the lot. But instead Jensen continues to torture himself with the photo, staring at Misha’s smile, and at Barrowman’s. Friendly, way too friendly for Jensen’s liking. 

It’s funny but Jensen’s never thought of himself as the jealous type before, even to the extent that it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that jealousy is what he was actually feeling. Now though? Whoo, boy, has he got it bad, all the symptoms - anger, petulance, an ache in his chest that’s so intense there was a night last week he thought he was having a heart attack.

Of course, Jensen knew that he loved Misha, and has done for most of the time he’s known him, but it’s taken what seems to Jensen to be a sudden exponential growth in Misha’s popularity and his pool of famous friends, and especially his whatever-relationship he has with that frigging flirt, John Barrowman, to give Jensen his recent epiphany as to the exact nature of that love. 

And Jensen’s main problem with that epiphany is that six years down the line he’s certain he’s missed any chance to follow through on those feelings, if he ever had one in the first place. Of course, being certain that he doesn’t have a chance doesn’t stop him feeling what he feels, and it fucking hurts.

‘Flirting with barrowman again I see’, Jensen types bitterly, deliberately putting a small ‘b’ in Barrowman’s name, and hits send. It’s petty and obvious but what the hell.

***

Misha stares at the message for way longer than it warrants, but is it a joke? Is Jensen seriously pissed, and if so what about? Who the fuck knows. The thing is Jensen’s been kind of odd to be around for the couple of months so Misha’s having problems reading him right now. 

“What are you looking at?” John asks, his chin jutting forward to rest on Misha’s shoulder so that he can peer at the phone in Misha’s hand. Then John chuckles, “Oh my God! He’s jealous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Misha murmurs, “I’m fairly sure he’s gone off me entirely to be honest.”

John pats him on the back. “That I doubt.” Misha continues to frown at his phone. “You can’t keep that candle alight for him forever you know.” John smiles fondly, and then he winks. “And that offer of a threesome is still on the table. Scott won’t stop talking about it, I’m telling you, he goes on and on, Misha this, Misha that.”

Misha smiles, turns and grins because if there’s one thing he is sure about, it’s that John’s joking about the threesome. They’re just friends, always will be. “One day I’ll take you up on that and you’ll run a mile.”

John’s face lights up as his smile widens, and he acknowledges Misha’s assessment with a tilt of his head and a nod.

“So ask him.”

Misha squints in confusion. “Ask him what?”

“If he’s jealous of course.”

“Now you are being ridiculous… hey!” 

Misha grabs for his phone as John snatches it from him. John’s grinning in delight, turning away and tucking the phone into his abdomen as he types something.

“What are you doing? Stop. Don’t.” Misha, more fearful than enraged because he knows the sort of thing John might type and God knows what Jensen will think of that, tries to circle John, making attempts to either get the phone back or knock it out of John’s hands. But John just keeps turning away, holding the phone close, as he bends over almost double to keep Misha’s grabby-hands away. “Fuck,” Misha says finally in frustration, dropping his hands to his sides and giving up. 

This is the point at which John hands Misha’s phone back. Misha hurriedly checks the sent messages, and groans.

***

‘I think you’re just jealous. You’re in love with me, admit it,’ the message reads. Jensen drops his phone in to his lap as if it’s red-hot. Talk about hitting the bullseye.

The question is though, is it a joke or is Misha serious? 

‘You wish,” he sends back. He reads it again. ‘You wish.’ Oh God, but that’s pathetic.

***

“’You wish’? Okay, he’s either twelve or he’s out of his mind with jealousy,” John declares.

“Or maybe he just means, ‘you wish,’,” Misha says, staring at his phone as if the words will somehow rearrange themselves with a full explanation, including a link to the corresponding Wikipedia page.

“Look,” John says, resting a hand on Misha’s shoulder. “You like him, right?” Misha nods reluctantly. In his defense he’d been completely shit-faced when he’d admitted that to John. Misha’d kind of hoped he’d forgotten but obviously that hope’s now dashed. “Maybe he actually likes you. Sometimes that good stuff happens.”

Misha scoffs. “It’s been nearly six years. I think he’d have said something by now.”

“Have you said anything?” John asks in an entirely too reasonable voice that somehow manages to rub Misha up the wrong way. “I tell you what, tonight we’re going to get to the bottom of this. No pun intended,” John adds with a giggle.

John ‘borrows’ Misha’s phone. Misha wants plausible denial if this comes back to bite him. John takes another photo, this one with John kissing Misha’s cheek, and John sends it through as a text with the line of a poem, Misha doesn’t know which one. He doesn’t want to. Misha cringes in embarrassment as he watches John hit send.

***

Jensen stares at his phone. Misha looks… well, actually he looks kind of embarrassed. In fact, maybe if Jensen squints, Misha looks as if he’s not totally ecstatic about the attention he’s getting from Barrowman.

Hell, who’s Jensen kidding? He knows he’s probably only reading into it what he wants to see. 

‘You make a lovely couple,’ he sends back angrily. 

After the next photo arrives he doesn’t bother with a response, but it doesn’t stop the photos coming. Misha and Barrowman slow-dancing, Barrowman sitting on Misha’s lap, Barrowman kneeling in front of Misha singing to him. Jesus. They keep coming and Jensen keeps ignoring them because to be honest he’s not entirely sure what’s going on. Misha’s not one for texting much usually, let alone pictorial journals of his nights on the town. 

After a couple of hours they stop. Part of Jensen’s relieved but the other part doesn’t want to know where Misha and Barrowman have gone that there’s no-one to take photos of them anymore.

***

“Look, I don’t know what he thinks of the photo spam but he must know it’s some kind of prank. He’s just ignoring us.” Misha’s tired and he’s fed-up with John’s attempts to get Jensen to admit to something that Misha knows he’ll never admit to because it means Jensen admitting to feelings that he just doesn’t have about Misha. Misha may love Jensen but he accepted a long time ago that that wasn’t reciprocated. If John hadn’t come along, Misha’s feelings for Jensen would simply have lain dormant until Misha’s (hopefully of old age) death. Not that Misha’s saying John’s trouble - but John’s trouble. He’s the biggest softy Misha’s ever known and combine that with no embarrassment filter - yeah, as Misha said, John’s trouble.

John shrugs. “And he hasn’t responded to a single one?” Misha shakes his head.

“Well it could be because he’s bawling his eyes out with what he thinks is unrequited - “

“John,” Misha warns.

“Sorry, man,” John says. “Did I fuck up?” 

Misha eyes him with a huff of annoyance, but then shakes his head and exhales a loud sigh. John means well always, and it’s impossible to stay annoyed at him. “Jensen probably thinks I’m drunk,” he says. “I think I can come out of this with my dignity in tatters, but my secret intact.”

—— SATURDAY MORNING ———

Jensen’s still trying to work out what the hell was going on last night. He’s looked at the photos inside-out and upside-down so many times he could probably draw them from memory. If he could draw. 

And here’s the thing that’s throwing Jensen. Jensen has seen everything there is to see about the photos and there are a couple of things that are irrefutable and as such don’t make any sense. 

Irrefutable thing number one, Misha’s not drunk. Even allowing for dim lighting and shadowed poses, Jensen can tell that there are none of the drunk-Misha tell-tale signs - the tired eyes, the animated hand motions, the extra button undone on his shirt (yep, Jensen’s noticed that one - may even have been known to encourage it). Jensen doesn’t know John Barrowman all that well but he doesn’t look drunk either. 

Which leads to irrefutable thing number two. Sure, Barrowman’s fawning over Misha in the photos but Jensen can tell it’s an act, posed for the camera. Barrowman’s not actually touching Misha anywhere a lover would touch, or vice-versa. They’re the sort of photos two mates at a frat party would take, and because both Misha and Barrowman are well past the age for frat party photos, Jensen is left wondering why they took them, let alone why they sent them to Jensen.

This brings Jensen to three possible conclusions (and he’s been giving this a hell of a lot of thought so he’s fairly sure he’s got this covered). 

One, Misha’s sent the photos to everyone and his dog, not just Jensen, and it’s some kind of publicity stunt. 

Two, Misha knows Jensen’s jealous, he thinks it’s funny, and so he’s being a dick and rubbing it in. 

Three, Misha’s intentionally trying to make Jensen jealous because Misha likes Jensen too.

One seems highly unlikely because that Kind of publicity stunt is just not Misha. Two seems unlikely as well for exactly the same reason. Misha can be snarky but he’s never mean or deliberately cruel. The trouble is that three seems equally unlikely because it’s been six years and that’s a long time to be harboring a crush and not saying anything about it. Jensen knows.

So where does that leave him? Damned if Jensen knows, but dare he hope for number three? He rubs his hand over his hair turning it every which way. The last thing he can afford to do is hope because that way lies pain.

—— SUNDAY MORNING ———

Misha comes back to set for an eight AM call.

He’s had thirty-six hours give or take to worry about what he did on Friday night. He’s petrified at the thought of running into Jensen, but he’s ready with his excuse about being drunk. He sips his green tea, wrapping his hands around the cardboard cup to warm himself against the morning chill, physical and mental. 

It seems he’s not quite as collected as he thought he was. When he sees Jensen pulling up in the truck with Clif at the wheel, he gulps too fast on his tea, choking on the hot liquid.

***

As Jensen climbs out of the truck, he looks around at the sound of someone having an impressive coughing fit.

His eyes find Misha just as Misha stops coughing and turns to thank the person behind him with a hand patting his back. Jensen’s eyes narrow against the low morning sun as he stares across the lot at his friend with an ache in his chest that’s nearly impossible to ignore. Ignore it he must though. 

He starts walking towards the coffee cart and Misha. Jensen’s not going to mention Friday night or the texts unless Misha does. He’s still no closer to fathoming what the hell was going on than he was at the time and it’s making his head hurt. Jensen knows that the normal thing to do would be to ask. If it were Jared that had sent those texts, that’s what he’d do and that’s what he should do. Misha will think it’s odd if he doesn’t, but that’s just tough because Jensen just can’t face a definite ‘not interested’. He sighs. So much for not getting his hopes up.

***

Oh God, oh God, oh God. Jensen’s coming this way. Play it cool, play it cool. Misha wipes his palms, suddenly sweaty, down the front of his jeans.

“Hey,” Jensen says, stopping a few feet away.

“Hey,” Misha replies warily. That’s a hell of a big gap, he considers, letting his eyes roam over the tarmac between them. He looks up again. Jensen doesn’t say anything else, so, confused, because he’s expecting some kind of sarcastic commentary about Friday night, after all how else is he going to share his ‘I was drunk’ story, Misha inclines his head towards the coffee cart. “Coffee?” he asks through lack of anything more inspirational to say.

Jensen shakes his head. “Nah, thanks. Had one on the way in.”

“Oh,” Misha says, nodding knowingly. Well actually, not knowingly, because he’s not entirely sure what’s going on right now because why hasn’t Jensen asked about the texts? “Um, I should… “ he murmurs, after an awkwardly long silence, head tilting in the direction of his trailer.

***

Jensen looks towards Misha’s trailer, following the direction of his head-tilt and his eyes, then while Misha’s still looking away, Jensen turns back to stare at him. Why the hell does Misha seem as nervous as Jensen is? Unless… 

No, don’t go there, Jensen tells himself, biting at the inside of his bottom lip.

Misha turns back and catches him looking. 

“Yeah,” Jensen says quickly, “Go do… whatever.”

“Jensen… “ Misha starts, but then he simply shakes his head, and shifts his eyes to look somewhere vaguely in the direction of Jensen’s shoulder. “Never mind. I’ll, um, see you later,” and Misha turns and strides off in the direction of the cast trailers as if he can’t wait to get out of there. Jensen doesn’t exactly blame him. Fuck, but this has got to be the most uncomfortable conversations he’s ever had.

Jensen watches Misha until he disappears behind the nearest building, and for five minutes after, until his phone buzzes in his pocket. Distracted by how fucking miserable he feels, he pulls the phone out of his pocket and looks at the screen with his mind only half-focused. He swipes the screen on his phone to read the text.

‘Are you some kind of idiot? If you don’t want him, can I have him?’

Jensen reads the message again, then stares at the anonymous source as if it will miraculously reveal who it is.

Jensen types furiously, ‘who is this?’

‘JB’

JB… JB… ? Jensen wracks his brain. Fricking hell - Barrowman.

‘What the hell do you want?’ Jensen types. He’s going to have to learn how to do emoticons because the words don’t convey the surge of jealous rage that wells unbidden.

‘It’s not what I want - it’s what you want. And what Misha wants.’

Jensen can barely see past the veil of red that’s clouding his mind but a little bit of him starts to process and is it at all possible that Barrowman’s talking about what Jensen thinks he’s talking about?

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he types, and he holds his breath waiting for the response.

‘Oh, please.’ Helpful - not. Jensen scowls, but it’s quickly followed by another text. ‘I may not know what Misha sees in you but even I don’t believe you’re that stupid.’

What Misha sees in him, he reads back slowly. He pockets the phone, turns sharply on the balls of his feet and heads in the direction of the trailers, after Misha. His phone buzzes in his pocket twice more but he ignores it. He’s got something important to do.

***

Misha’s already sent his well-we-certainly-fucked-that-up message to John and is changing out of his t-shirt and into Castiel’s thick woolen, white undershirt (because it’s chilly and he’s got to do a lot of standing around so sue him) and button-down when there’s a knock on the door. Misha turns, black t-shirt in one hand, white undershirt in the other, just as the door opens and Jensen tumbles through in a rush, looking a bit crazy if truth be told.

“What happened?” Misha asks urgently, taking in Jensen’s slightly wild-eyed appearance and forgetting the weekend’s painful mess in an instant.

Jensen stumbles forward, staring at him. Misha takes a step forward to meet him, and Jensen’s hand comes up to grip Misha’s bare upper arm like a drowning man to a life-line.

The feeling of Jensen’s palm on Misha’s skin sets off its usual shivery reaction, a reaction Misha suppresses with annoyance because something is clearly wrong.

“Tell me,” Misha demands, meeting Jensen’s stare with a worried one of his own. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Do you… ?” Jensen gasps out as if he’s been running. “I mean, I do… but do you… I have to know… but it’s okay, you know… so I can’t… I can’t not… any longer… you know?”

“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Misha mutters, reaching a hand to grab Jensen’s elbow to try and guide him to the couch. “Calm down and I’ll get you some water.”

Jensen’s fixated on Misha’s hand on his elbow, which is kind of scary especially when he reaches up and grabs Misha’s wrist. “I love you. It’s okay if you don’t, but I had to tell you because if you do - “

Misha stares at Jensen and he’s fairly sure his mouth’s hanging open in an unattractive, gormless way. He snaps it shut.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say something sooner?” Misha says, probably louder than it deserves. “Six years and you couldn’t think to mention it?”

“I’ve mentioned it now,” Jensen pouts. “But if - you know, if you don’t, I could just go… “

“I do,” Misha says in a rush. To be honest, he’s still waiting for the catch but he’s not sure there is one.

“You do?” Jensen says, and Misha can visibly see Jensen’s natural confidence coming back. “Oh, thank God. It was going to be so awkward if you said you didn’t.”

“What, like earlier?” Misha asks, amused.

Jensen chuckles. “Yeah, just like earlier.” 

“I should text John,” Misha says suddenly, still surprised, and Jensen thumps him. “Ow! What was that for.”

“You text that dick and it’s over.”

“He’s not a dick, and we haven’t even started yet so how can it be over?”

“He said if I didn’t want you could he have you.” Jensen rubs his shoe back and forward over the carpet in sudden discomfort.

“Did he now,” Misha mutters. “Well in that case he’s a dick and he can suffer for a little longer without knowing what’s going on.”

Jensen eyes him cautiously, and Misha watches as Jensen re-assesses. “Friday night?”

Misha grimaces. “John’s idea. Sorry.”

“Then… you and Barrowman?”

“Just friends. I promise.” Misha smiles open, and honest. 

“That’s what we are… were.”

“Were,” Misha says, wrapping his mouth around the words and his head around the concept. “Definitely were.”

“In that case, I want you to kiss me,” Jensen says. He’s staring at Misha nervously now and that just won’t do. If they’re going to do this, then they’re going to do this right and they’ve got to go all in.

“I want to you to suck my dick,” Misha replies.

Jensen chokes in surprise. “Subtle much?” he asks.

“Six fucking years, Jensen,” Misha says, taking a step forward. Jensen puts his palm flat on Misha’s naked chest then seems to spend an inordinate amount of time, in Misha’s opinion, deciding what to do next. Eventually, Jensen’s palm starts to slide down Misha’s sternum, and Misha lets out the air he’d been holding in his lungs in one long breath. Jensen smiles. 

“Then lets start making up for all the lost time,” Jensen says, his hand sliding around Misha’s side to his back and pulling him closer. 

Misha steps forward until his chest is touching Jensen’s, he lifts his arm to wrap it around Jensen’s neck, and he brings their lips together in a slow, tentative kiss that gradually deepens, becoming increasingly frantic and breathless. They break the kiss, still touching foreheads, lips and noses. Misha can feel Jensen’s rapid breaths against his face.

“Six years.”

“For fuck’s sake, give it a rest,” Jensen mutters.

“You know how to make me,” Misha murmurs, pausing between each word as he drops nibbling kisses along Jensen’s jaw.

Jensen doesn’t bother to answer, just pushes in to kiss Misha again, tightening his arm behind Misha’s back to squeeze them closer and walking him backwards towards the small kitchenette counter. Misha lets him, walking and kissing with increasing desperation.

“Mish,” Jensen moans into Misha’s mouth, mumbling through hectic kisses as Misha hits the counter, and Jensen breaks the kiss and moves away six inches. Six inches too far in Misha’s book. He reaches out to pull Jensen back in, but Jensen plants both palms on Misha’s sides and stays firm.

“I thought you wanted me to suck your dick,” he says. Jensen looks as if he’s trying to smirk, but what happens is this kind of fond smile. “I can’t do that if I’m up here.”

True.

“Then by all means, get on with it,” Misha says with a calmness he definitely doesn’t feel. His eyes drop to stare at Jensen’s lips, pink and slightly swollen with kissing and his already enthusiastic erection pulses in his jeans, pressing hard against the zipper.

By touching and feeling it’s way around Misha’s abdomen in a way that makes Misha want to giggle, Jensen’s right hand finds the button on Misha’s jeans, but Jensen’s left hand is gripping hard onto Misha’s side, fingers digging into the muscle and probably leaving bruises. It’s enough, anyway, to distract Misha from the ticklish fumbling.

“You have done this before, right?” Misha asks.

“Which? Undone a fly, or sucked a dick?” Jensen checks.

“Um… the latter?” Misha hadn’t really thought Jensen might not have sucked dick before. He gets a little nervous. First-timers tend to use a little too much teeth, or try and swallow too much and gag, or are put off by the taste, or … shit, but Misha doesn’t want this to be Jensen’s first time. They should do something easier. Hand jobs, or Misha can blow Jensen, or…

“Stop worrying,” Jensen says, leaning in to nip at Misha’s collar bone, then his nipple, then his belly, before popping the button on Misha’s jeans and pulling down the zipper. 

And oh, the relief, as Misha’s dick has more room, spreading out in his cotton briefs, the tip nearly breeching the waistband.

“Ahhh,” Misha says intelligently.

“I’ve done this before. Not for a long time, but it’s like riding a bike, right?”

“If you suck my dick like you’re riding a bike - “ Misha starts, but is cut off by the feel of Jensen’s finger dipping under the waistband of his briefs and sliding from hip to hip across his belly, the pad of Jensen’s finger brushing over the tip of Misha’s dick on its way past. Misha drops his head back against the kitchenette cupboard with a groan and a loud thud. It should probably hurt but for some reason all his sensory perception is currently occupied elsewhere.

Jensen pulls his finger out and looks up at Misha through his eyelashes. Misha watches the tip of the finger, glistening lightly with the pre-cum Jensen wiped from the slit of his penis as his finger brushed the surface, and Misha watches as Jensen puts the finger in his mouth and sucks on it, closing his eyes and humming in pleasure.

Oh, God, that mouth is going to be around his dick soon, pink, and gorgeous, and humming with a pleasure-filled vibration.

“Nice,” Jensen says, popping the finger out of his mouth, now slick with saliva. “Here - try it.” Jensen raises his hand and rests the tip to Misha’s lips, where Misha sucks the finger into his mouth. He can’t taste himself on there any more, but Jensen fucks his mouth with the finger just the same, as Jensen’s other hand eases Misha’s briefs down and over his erection.

Misha doesn’t even have time to appreciate the cool air hitting his heated dick before Jensen’s mouth is around him and sucking him down in one smooth motion. 

“Oh, God!” he moans around Jensen’s finger. Jensen’s mouth is hot and wet as he slides up and down Misha’s dick. 

Jensen’s finger slides reluctantly slowly out of Misha’s mouth as if Jensen would rather leave it where it is, and trails a slick line down Misha’s chest, over his nipple, past his naval, through the thick curls of hair at his groin until Jensen’s hand is wrapped around the base of his dick. Misha’s fairly sure he’s got goosebumps over every single inch of exposed skin right now. 

He dips his head to watch intently as Jensen closes his eyes and bobs earnestly up and down his length, Jensen’s lips dark pink and wrapped tight around Misha’s girth while his hand moves in sync. It’s luscious, luxurious, sensual, orgasmic. Misha loves it, revels in it, the heat, the pressure, the damp, the feel of Jensen’s tongue as he sucks and slides. He should pinch himself because this can’t be finally happening and he suddenly realizes that now, this first time, he wants to have Jensen closer, to kiss him, to hold him, to feel him breathe.

He tugs on Jensen’s hair.

“Get up here,” he says when Jensen pauses and looks up. Jensen lets go of Misha’s dick slowly, twirling his tongue around the head as he pulls off. 

“Everything okay?” He looks concerned.

God, but Misha loves him. Six years of repressed emotions tumble to the surface now that they’re allowed to. “I want to see you,” he says through short, fast breaths. “I want you up here. Is that okay?”

Jensen stands up easily. He’s still dressed for God’s sake while Misha’s bare to where his jeans and briefs pool just below his knees. He finds Jensen’s belt buckle and undoes it sliding the belt out.

“Yeah,” Jensen murmurs, leaning in and tugging lightly at Misha’s ear-lobe with his teeth. “That’s very okay,” Misha hears Jensen breathe the words into his ear.

Misha undoes the buttons on Jensen’s button fly and reaches his hand through the gap in Jensen’s boxers to grab his dick. 

Jensen bites extra hard on his ear. 

“Ow,” Misha yelps.

“Sorry.” Jensen doesn’t sound sorry. He’s got Misha’s dick in his hand and he rubs his thumb over the head before wrapping his fist around it and starting to pump. Misha takes Jensen in hand and does the same. They’re so physically close their hands rub against each other as they jerk furiously. Jensen twists his head so he can kiss Misha on the lips and Misha sucks at Jensen’s tongue when it pushes its way into his mouth. He wraps his free arm around the back of Jensen’s neck to hold him steady as Misha gasps through the urgency of his impending orgasm. Then it’s taking him by surprise and he’s coming with a wordless yell before he’s ready, which is totally not fair. Jensen pushes his tongue further and harder into Misha’s mouth, pressing his lips brutally against Misha’s as Misha comes, Misha moving his hips in small thrusts into Jensen’s hand, then Jensen’s panting into Misha’s mouth and Misha feels Jensen’s dick go even harder before it jerks in his hand and hot, sticky come covers his fingers, and mingles with his own, a glorious mess between them.

Slowly they stroke each other until it becomes unpleasantly sensitive. Jensen leans in and drops his head to Misha’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. 

“You wanna have breakfast with me?” he mumbles sounding dozy.

“Oh first sex, then the date? That’s different,” Misha snorts. He can’t hold back the smile. This really happened. This is really happening. Jensen loves him. “I love you,” he says.

He can feel Jensen smile against the crook of his neck. “What is there not to love?”

***

Jensen sends a text to Barrowman - ‘hands off. I want him’.

Barrowman sends one back. It seems Barrowman knows a lot of emoticons but Jensen has no problem working out the gist. Dick. Jensen smiles. Helpful dick.


End file.
